Sherlock's Hidden Interests
by yaoifangirlHolly
Summary: A package comes for Sherlock while he is out. John signs for it and finds himself peeking inside...and is shocked at what he discovers. Sherlock/John. M for sexual content.


**Disclaimer: I do not own BBC Sherlock or the characters. Steven Moffatt, Mark Gatiss, and Arthur Conan Doyle do. I do not profit in any way from this.**

**Story: John Watson is alone in the flat when a package arrives for Sherlock. He signs for it, then can't resist peeking inside...Sherlock/John slash. Rated M for sexual themes.**

"Package, for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the delivery man said gruffly.

"He's not here at the moment," John said apologetically. "Can I sign for it?"

In answer, the man thrust a clipboard at him. John had barely finished his signature when it was whisked away, and a brown package dropped into his hands before the man returned to his van, hitching up his builder's bum trousers as he went.

"Charming," John muttered, gazing inquisitively at the package as he closed the door behind him. It was probably a book on some grizzly murder case, Sherlock loved to read those. Or at least he hoped that was what it was; it was a preferable alternative to it being a pair of eyes Sherlock had ordered for his latest experiment.

Wincing as he remembered the past body part he had innocently happened upon (a whole human leg, in the bathtub); John went to open the package. Surely he had a right to know what was inside, being Sherlock's flatmate? But then he hesitated, realising that if he partway opened it, then sealed it back up again, Sherlock would notice for sure.

John shook his head decisively. No. I do deserve to know what's in the package. If it was so private, Sherlock would have been here to collect it himself, surely?

Feeling like a naughty schoolboy opening a present the day before Christmas, John slid a finger along the flap, and ripped it, then put his hand inside, pulling out what felt like a book. He flipped it over to look at the front cover.

And blinked.

Then blinked again.

"50 Gay Erotica Stories," he read aloud. The words were emblazoned on the top in thick red text. Underneath, a picture of a man's muscled torso. "There must be a mix up," John laughed to himself, sliding his hand back into the empty package to pull out the receipt.

Sherlock Holmes's name. And his debit card number – John recognised it, he had borrowed it off Sherlock himself so many times. So Sherlock had definitely bought it.

"Maybe he bought it for someone else? Mrs. Hudson?" John shook his head to clear the image from his mind. No. That couldn't be right.

He opened the book to read the first story, finding himself sucked into the words and losing track of his surroundings. He snapped it shut and jumped guiltily off the sofa, book still in hand as the door clicked shut.

Sherlock.

"I'm back, evidently," he heard the other man say, and made to move or to do something, but there was no time, and he froze in his spot as Sherlock entered the room, and strolled straight past him to put shopping bags on the kitchen countertop.

John glanced down at the book he was holding as he heard Sherlock talking in the kitchen about the incompetence of checkout workers and decided to just be honest. Walking into the kitchen, he held up the book.

"This came for you while you were out. I shouldn't have opened it really," he went on, as Sherlock gazed at the book, betraying no embarrassment. "I thought it might have been some more human eyes you were experimenting on or something."

"Well, as much as I don't appreciate your opening my packages, thank you for signing for it." Sherlock resumed taking things out of bags. It was obvious John wasn't going to get any kind of explanation unless he asked for one.

"So do you...usually read that kind of thing?" John casually probed, placing the book on the counter, and taking some shopping out of a bag nearest to him.

Sherlock shrugged, the epitome of cool, and then briefly locked eyes with John. "It passes time, between murder cases. I'm sure I could write better though."

"R-Really?" John tried for lightness, but his mouth was dry.

"So what did you think of the first story?" Sherlock's mouth quirked upwards in amusement.

"What?"

"I can tell from the way the pages have been disturbed that you've opened it, and therefore read some, I assume? What did you think?"

"Well." John swallowed. "It was a bit clichéd, really, the cowboy thing..."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "That's what I think." Placing the milk on the counter, he stepped over to where John stood. "That's their first mistake, the predictable. Now, a story about a consulting detective, and his assistant, making love in an alleyway, that would go down a storm, don't you think?"

"I-I don't know," was all John could manage under the intensity of Sherlock's gaze.

"Of course it would," Sherlock replied. "Because it's unpredictable. Like me," he added, before leaning in to kiss John. His lips were pleasantly cool, and they made John gasp for a second between kisses.

"W-Wait, what's going on here?" John pulled back awkwardly.

Sherlock remained calm, matter of fact in tone, despite his smile. "I know you're curious, John."

"What? I didn't know the package was that book!"

"And yet the first thing you did once you learned what it was, was to read it." His smile only widened at John's silence. "If I'm mistaken, tell me."

"You're mistaken," John said weakly, but he didn't even sound convincing to himself.

"John, why did you join the army?"

"Wha?" John was briefly thrown off by the sudden topic change. "To save lives."

"As a doctor, right? If you wanted to save lives, why didn't you just become a regular doctor? Why join the army? Was it possibly because of the close proximity to men?"

"You're the one with the book! Why are you psychoanalysing me?" John protested.

Sherlock shrugged easily. "I'm comfortable with my sexuality. Now," he said, brushing past John. "I'll be in my room, if you want to come join me. The offer's there."

John stood alone in the silence of the kitchen, wondering what had just happened. The book was still sitting before him, mocking him. He tried to imagine Sherlock reading it, and found himself drifting on to imagining Sherlock naked. It was true he had been attracted to Sherlock from the start. Maybe Sherlock had known that, and that's why he let John discover his reading habits so easily?

If John followed Sherlock upstairs, which he wanted to, what would it mean? That he was gay, or bisexual? John felt uneasy with the possible connotations. But he did want Sherlock.

Picking up the book, he made his way up the stairs, and opened the door. "You forgot this," he murmured, holding out the book.

With a small smile, Sherlock stretched up from his chair. "I thought you weren't coming," he said, taking the book and throwing it onto the floor next to a pile of other books.

"So did I," John replied honestly, as Sherlock stepped over to him, cupping his face with a long pale hand. But when Sherlock smiled at him, he knew he had made the right decision.


End file.
